


Under Lock and Key

by flecksofpoppy, theisles



Series: Beyond Walls [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Male Character, Dirty Talk, Fingering, First Time, Frottage, Gay Male Character, Group Sex, M/M, Multi, OT3, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Smutalicious, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theisles/pseuds/theisles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A canon divergence fic where Jean, Marco, and Armin join the Survey Corps together, and learn all the different things that trust can mean, especially between a cunning strategist, level-headed peacekeeper, and painfully sincere leader.</p><p>  <a href="http://mjolklizardart.tumblr.com/post/119249611743/mjolklizard-my-three-week-silence-ends-here">A series based on Dylo's art and our head canons about how this would play out.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Lock and Key

**Author's Note:**

> So, Dylo (tumblr user mjolklizard) had this idea about Jean, Marco, and Armin joining the Survey Corps, and then it got built into an AU as we talked about it obsessively through e-mail, lol. The three of them have a really complicated dynamic based on their different personalities. They're 21 in this timeline, and have gone through various things together. Some of it is inferred in this first porny installment, but there's WAY more where that came from.
> 
> Basically, this all stems from [this gorgeous art](http://mjolklizardart.tumblr.com/post/119249611743/mjolklizard-my-three-week-silence-ends-here) Dylo drew nearly a year ago, that I am also obsessed with. And that's what I based this entire smutty one shot off of. And there will be more!

For two twenty-one year old seasoned Survey Corps members, Jean and Marco could be fifteen the way they’re both blushing and looking at anything in the room except each other.

Marco is sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed, bare feet save for the ODM gear still strapped to his legs and looped around his feet; and Jean, smiling awkwardly with that stupid look that’s simultaneously cocky but also nervous. 

It’s so typical and disgustingly perfect, Armin just wants to groan. They’ve been doing this for years.

“So,” Jean says, dropping his eyes and tracing his index finger in an idle swirl against the green military-issue coverlet, “um...”

“Armin,” Marco says brightly, snapping his head up, eyebrows raised earnestly, “so what’d you think about those strategy formations today?”

Armin takes a deep breath, reaches up to loosen his hair from the top knot he’s pulled it into, and raises an eyebrow.

He can do this. He wanted this. They discussed it beforehand, because he’s good at directing and getting things moving.

“Marco, look at Jean.”

Marco snaps his mouth shut, his eyes widening; the flush that immediately colors his cheeks makes Armin feel hot.

There’s a slight hesitation—the birds sing outside, the door remains locked, and the afternoon sun still manages to just escape the room by hitting the eve of the roof at the right angle.

But Marco obeys, and that’s what keeps Armin anchored to the spot.

And then Jean obeys, too, and that’s what makes Armin want to touch himself.

“Jean,” he continues, trying to keep his voice level, “take off Marco’s gear.”

Jean swallows hard, his eyes shifting to Armin very quickly. There’s something about the way he looks for guidance, for stability, that makes Armin’s breath catch.

A lot has changed in five years.

But Armin just offers a diplomatic nod and waits. Let Jean figure it out on his own; he’s good at that, even though he always thinks he won’t be.

Sure enough, he finally moves hesitantly across the bed, stretching awkwardly to loop his finger in one of the straps around Marco’s thigh.

“Um,” he grunts, tugging, “c’mere.”

Marco finally sighs—a heavy sound laced with voice that gives him away much more than words ever could—and Jean visibly tenses.

They’re still so hesitant, as Marco laughs awkwardly, looking at the bed as he swings his legs up and lies down on his back, helping Jean undo the complicated gear that once completely baffled them.

When Marco’s gear is off, his toes pointing unconsciously as Jean lies down next to him companionably, Armin decides to assert himself again.

“Marco,” he says, “unbutton Jean’s shirt.”

Jean and Marco laugh nervously at the same time, but Marco doesn’t hesitate this time. He reaches forward to unfasten the buttons of Jean’s shirt, more eagerly now, as if he’s lost some of his nerves. His fingers are nimble and quick, and finally, Jean’s breath catches and his eyes close.

Armin is galvanized on, although he resists touching himself.

“Touch him,” he instructs, somewhat more vaguely now, but still resolute.

Jean’s face when Marco’s fingers first slide inside his shirt is an expression Armin will never forget. 

And then, he whines, back arching as he loses himself, and Marco exhales hard.

“That’s good,” Jean groans, suddenly fumbling for Marco’s hand. “Mm, I...”

“Kiss his chest,” Armin continues, staring at Jean’s chest and nipples where his shirt has fallen open, “kiss along his scars.”

There only a few scars along Jean’s chest, but Marco is obedient as he immediately lowers his head to kiss enthusiastically at the faint marks on Jean’s chest.

“Tell me where they’re from,” Armins says.

“Um,” Marco murmurs, still not moving away, “this one is from training.” He kisses an old white line along Jean’s ribs so tenderly and with such familiarity, Armin blushes again.

“And these two,” he continues in a whisper, moving up to there’s two small marks just underneath Jean’s collarbones, “are from Trost.” He kisses those marks twice; the first kiss is hot, and the second is gentle.

Jean’s hand rises and he pushes his fingers through Marco’s hair, whimpering.

“What’s his hair feel like?” Armin prompts.

“Soft,” Jean sighs, arching his back, “Marco...”

Marco’s much less hesitant now as he pushes Jean’s shirt back, revealing strong shoulders and powerful biceps—he’s always been the best at ODM out of the three of them, although Marco’s built in a completely different way.

Armin can smell him from where he’s sitting at the end of the bed, watching. Jean always smells like leather, soap, and faintly of sweat, like a well lived-in shirt.

It’s been about three years now that Armin’s been jerking off to it.

“Find where he’s most sensitive...” Armin says distractedly, trying not to let his throat go too dry to get the words out, completely transfixed by how Marco’s mouth as moved eagerly up along Jean’s neck, “above the waist.”

Jean’s cheeks flush immediately, but his breath quickens, and he moans outright now, eyes closed as he moves to shrug his shirt off completely before settling on his back, tipping his head back, completely prone. 

Armin’s always suspected Marco is probably more experienced than Jean or even himself. Jean isn’t any stranger to sex, but he seems to stick to brothels when he feels the urge. Marco’s confident and cheerful, though, and he brings a bit of security and joy to people around him. Needless to say, he’s sought after by both men and women—both soldiers as well as civilians—and he’s become almost strikingly handsome. 

Where Jean is well-muscled, sometimes elegant, mostly stubbly, and often annoyingly cocky still, Marco is tall, has a warm endearing smile, and what Mikasa once called rather diplomatically, “a chiseled jaw.”

When Armin had raised an eyebrow at her description, she remained impassive, but confirmed with a shrug, “Everyone wants to marry him.”

Everyone does want to marry Marco.

Although, given how Jean currently has his long, deft fingers now twisted tightly in Marco’s hair, moaning wantonly as Marco kisses up his cheek and along his ear with a look of intense concentration, that wish strikes Armin as a lost cause for anyone outside this room.

Marco suddenly draws away from Jean with a little smile—that warm look that makes Armin’s heart flutter—and he starts to grin.

“Why don’t you ever shave more than once a week?” he complains, running his fingers critically over Jean’s jaw. It’s so tender, though, that Jean just stares at him, wide-eyed.

“Sorry,” he sputters, reaching up to touch his own cheek self-consciously.

Marco rolls his eyes, no longer shy and teasing as always, and then the moment becomes intense again as he leans forward to kiss Jean for the first time.

Armin just stares, and he can’t help but bring his fingertips up to his own mouth, feeling how soft his own lips are. Jean’s lips are always chapped, always out against the elements, are the fore of every maneuver they pull; Marco usually in the rear.

Armin spends much more time inside of tents or barracks with maps; he also uses a salve his grandfather taught him how to make years before.

But he’d also like to know what Jean’s lips taste like, and then he remembers what they’re doing.

“What does Jean taste like?” he asks.

Marco doesn’t answer immediately, as if taking extra time to come up with the correct answer, his mouth moving gently against Jean’s.

Apparently, this takes Jean more off guard than anything else, and his entire body arches up against Marco’s, pulling him closer.

Marco finally draws away, but their mouths are still very close as he sighs, “Peppermint.”

Armin could’ve guessed that, though, since Jean actually picked up the habit of chewing peppermint after meals from Marco years ago during their training days.

He feels himself start to blush, though, as Marco’s eyes immediately dart down to where Armin’s sporting a very obvious erection, but he doesn’t say anything yet. It’s probably only a matter of time, given that Marco is a problem solver and never leaves issues unresolved, but for now he’s keeping quiet.

Armin also realizes that he’s given Jean the easy role, simply allowing himself to be touched, and he decides to tap into some of the nervous energy he knows is there.

“Jean,” he says clearly, breaking Jean out of his distracted daze from kissing Marco (for what Armin suspects is the first time), “is Marco hard?”

The color Jean’s face turns is one Armin’s never actually seen on a human being.

And then, leave it to good old Marco, to take Jean’s hand with a friendly smile and guide it to his crotch where it’s pretty obvious that Armin’s question doesn’t actually need confirmation.

But Jean blinks, and then just as Armin’s expecting, he makes a decision and lets his intuition guide him.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly around the outline of Marco’s impressive cock, still restricted in the fabric of his uniform trousers, and Marco lets out a whine as he loses his composure.

“Yeah,” Jean confirms breathlessly, “he is.”

“Jean...” Marco moans shamelessly, rolling onto his back and spreading his legs without hesitation. It occurs to Armin right then that he underestimated how much Marco wants this, how many of his emotions he’s probably been holding at bay for a long time. Marco may not be shy about expressing his thoughts, but he’s also careful not to scare people away; he’s good at reading those around him.

But now, the way he loses his self-awareness, letting his expression contort, eyebrows raising together until he looks like he could cry, leaves Armin a little breathless himself.

Watching Marco come undone is almost better than watching Jean, since with Marco, it’s unexpected.

“Take off his pants,” Armin instructs, licking his lips at he stares at the bulge in Marco’s trousers. They’ve both seen Marco’s cock—it’s unavoidable when you start your careers in the same cadet squad—but admittedly, Armin’s never seen him aroused.

Jean’s hands are surprisingly steady as he unfastens Marco’s pants, untucking the neatly buttoned shirt to unzip them. Marco gives an appreciative sigh, a sweet smile touching his features that disappears just as quickly, and he groans as Jean tugs the pants down his legs.

He obliges, lifting his hips, but lets Jean do the work of getting them off along with his underwear, until finally he’s naked from the waist down.

Armin can feel Jean staring just as hard as him at Marco’s body. He’s pure muscle, especially in his thighs for obvious reasons, and he has freckles _everywhere_. His uncut cock is standing out between his legs, and there isn’t a trace of self-consciousness on his face.

Instead, he’s staring at Jean, as Jean stares at him; and Marco bites his lip.

To Armin’s surprise, though, then Marco’s eyes turn to meet his own. It’s obvious what he wants from Jean—that he’s aching for Jean to touch him, bring the scene alive—but Armin’s not expecting the interested gaze cast in his direction.

“Jean,” Armin croaks, trying to sound composed, “use your mouth.”

As the words emerge, Marco immediately groans and his eyes slip shut; he’s enjoying this strange dance even more than Armin it seems, regardless that Armin’s the one in control.

“You want me to...?” Jean asks incredulously, trailing off.

“Only if you want to,” comes Marco’s soft voice, a gentle expression on his face that’s laced with sharp disappointment. He’s trying to hide it, but it’s easy to see, at least for Armin.

Probably not for Jean, who’s so oblivious, he’d sooner expect a Titan to kiss him than Marco. Or at least, he might have felt that way an hour ago.

“I...” Jean stammers, his face starting to turn red again, “I’ve never...”

“Relax your jaw,” Armin supplies, “and be careful with your teeth.”

They both turn to look at Armin in surprise, and it’s so abrupt, the moment almost becomes comedic.

“Damn, Arlert,” Jean blurts out, his eyes wide, “I didn’t know you got around.”

“ _Jean_ ,” Marco groans, rolling his eyes, “don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” Jean practically crows, immediately falling into his comfort zone of ribbing when the opportunity arises. “I didn’t—”

Armin decides he’s had enough of hesitance, and it reminds him too much of what he was like at fifteen. Instead, he looks straight at Jean, and interjects with exactly what he wants to see.

“ _Jean_ ,” Armin barks sternly, raising an eyebrow and re-pinning his hair behind his head, “get on your hands and knees, and suck Marco’s cock.” 

The sound of Jean’s name makes something spark in his eyes, and his mouth snaps shut, cheeks still burning. But he licks his lips, still staring at Armin, until Armin realizes the look of interest is submissiveness.

Well, then.

“And take off your pants,” Armin adds with a flourish, knowing it will be a welcome command if he’s reading Jean’s reaction the right way, “so I can see everything.”

Jean doesn’t even question it. He moans softly as he takes a sharp breath, fumbling with normally poised hands to unfasten his own pants and push them off.

Armin has secretly always been fascinated by Jean’s hands. He has a terrible tendency to flaunt his smooth, slender fingers at the strangest times, letting them hang between his knees when he’s resting, playing idly with cutlery at mealtimes, tapping them against his lips when he’s thinking.

No one has hands like Jean’s, and no one can use their hands so well. In fact, the entire fixation started when Jean had to sign his name on a report Armin had written up about a campaign outside the Wall, and he’d stopped, fixed in his seat when he saw Jean’s signature.

It was rendered in absolutely perfect penmanship, each letter formed precisely and with an obvious effortlessness. It was then Armin was reminded that Jean also liked to sketch.

Therefore, in this moment, seeing those fingers tremble because of _his words_ is proving rather intoxicating.

Marco steps in to help Jean, laughing under his breath; he gets a bashful curse in return, but Jean lets him undo the trousers and push them down.

The bed creaks sharply as Jean gets onto his hands and knees, shamelessly showing Armin his ass and spreading his legs slightly, as he leans forward and licks experimentally at Marco’s cock.

“Fuck,” Marco gasps, his hand immediately coming down to twist in Jean’s hair. He draws his knees up and apart, and Jean turns his head to kiss at Marco’s inner thighs softly; it’s a gesture that’s so gentle and adoring, there’s no way Jean’s aware of how obviously he’s betraying his emotions.

“Mm, Jean,” Marco moans again, starting to pant, “that feels good.”

Jean nods a little, and then shoots a look back over his shoulder at Armin. He’s completely debauched, cheeks flushed and lips swollen from kissing Marco.

“Can you...” He stops, but Armin knows what he wants to ask, and waits. “Can you see everything you want?” he finishes, coughing a little, but manages to get the words out.

“Spread your legs a little further apart, and pleasure yourself with your hand when you use your mouth on Marco.”

The expression that crosses Jean’s face is one that Armin will always remember—complete and utter submission, his eyebrows twisted together as a long moan catches in his throat that issues straight from his core. He does exactly as instructed, pushing his knees further apart where he’s kneeling, and then leaning forward with his ass in the air to suck Marco’s cock, stroking his own.

Jean’s cock is very nice. Cut and an average size, but a sensitive head that’s already swollen and dripping precome. He’s eager and Armin can only imagine what he can do with it when he really lets himself go.

And then the mattress starts to squeak as Jean bobs his head experimentally, starting slow, but then speeding up as he hears Marco’s response—short, staccato little moans and a flex of hips.

Armin can’t stand it anymore as he watches Jean’s legs and ass flex with the motion of his upper body, struggling to remain balanced as he uses one hand to jerk himself off, and the other to stroke Marco’s cock as he sucks.

Armin palms his own cock through his pants, and finally decides to let himself out of the restricting uniform, reaching inside to give a few satisfying strokes.

Marco doesn’t noticed yet, because his back is pressed tightly against the bed as he cries out every time Jean slides his head down. It’s obvious Marco is also getting ready to come, but since the point is to make this last, Armin intervenes the way he’s supposed to.

“Jean, stop,” he commands sharply, and true to form, Jean immediately pulls off Marco’s cock to look at Armin in surprise. His eyes are wide and his cheeks are still flushed, and he’s got a small streak of precome at the corner of his mouth.

To Armin’s surprise, though, Jean actually looks perturbed and worried. “Was that not right?” he asks with a vulnerability that shocks even Armin, who’s usually very good at predicting behaviors. “I’ve never done it before.”

Marco intervenes, unsurprisingly, and pulls Jean to lie down next to him, pressing a kiss against his forehead. The amount of affection he’s showing isn’t the type of newfound attraction two lovers have for one another; it’s a type of longing that can’t exist without having time to build up.

The most amazing part, though, is that it’s so natural to Jean to simply acclimate, he follows the direction of Marco’s hands without question and sighs in relief when he feels the kiss.

Anyone else might have shied away from such an intimate gesture; for them, it’s like second nature, even though it’s the first time they’ve ever done this.

Armin can’t help but suddenly feel a pang of bitterness. He can read them both like books, but somehow, he doesn’t see himself in this scenario no matter how he looks at it.

As if right on cue, Marco asks, “You want help with that?” He’s staring at the bulge in Armin’s unzipped pants, and licks his lips.

“Not yet,” Armin replies diplomatically. “First, I want you to fuck Jean with your fingers.”

Marco’s eyes widen, and he looks at Jean apprehensively; Jean just gives him an eager, albeit shy and unsure expression, and then they both just stare at each other.

After a moment, though, Jean, as if to make his own decision clear, rolls onto his stomach and spreads his legs apart.

“I want you to,” comes his muffled voice where he’s pressed face into the bed. He reaches out his hand to feel for Marco, and then guides it toward the small of his back.

Marco immediately sighs, and pauses to look over at the bedside table where Armin had placed some a small vial of lubricant.

In the back of his mind, though, Armin really hadn’t expected it to go this far; not that he’s complaining.

“Have you ever done this?” Marco asks Jean evenly, reaching over to retrieve the container. Armin watches intently, forcing himself to remember to breathe as Marco pops it open and drips some of the slick substance onto his fingertips.

Jean shakes his head no, and Marco looks over at Armin, raising an eyebrow as if asking for advice.

“Start with one finger,” Armin instructs, raising an eyebrow in return. He’s relatively sure Marco’s never been on the receiving end of something like this, or at least only a handful of times.

Armin, on the other hand, knows his way around the anatomy of the male body relatively well. Of course, Jean and Marco don’t know that, a fact with which Armin’s fine. Most people don’t know that about him.

“Jean, if it hurts...”

Jean lifts his head, and although he still doesn’t turn his face to look at either of them, he does manage to blurt out, “I’ll definitely tell you.” It’s almost a squeak, and Marco muffles an unexpected laugh.

“Hey!” Jean exclaims, finally losing enough of his nervousness to shoot Marco a incredulous look. “You’re not the one getting a finger—”

The words die on Jean’s lips as Marco seizes the opportunity to lean forward and kiss him from the side, effectively shutting up Jean’s tirade and nudging his finger along the cleft of Jean’s ass.

That earns a moan, another show of complete submission as Jean’s back arches and his legs spread further apart, and he nods.

Marco doesn’t smile now, and lets Jean lie his head back down (probably in the interest of comfort, since kissing sideways while lying on your chest isn’t the most convenient position), and then Marco kisses slowly down his back, pushing his fingers in between Jean’s buttocks and rubbing slowly.

Armin pulls his cock out fully now as he reaches down to stroke himself, watching as Jean’s hands fist in the bed clothes. His arm shoots up to grab the headboard that happens to be conveniently close by, and he lets out a loud, ragged moan that’s muffled by the bedspread.

Marco rubs his cheek affectionately against Jean’s back, kissing at the soft skin at the small of it, and then slowly pushes a finger forward.

“Is that okay?” he asks in concern, his face soft and attentive as he kisses Jean’s skin again. “Just relax and breathe.”

“Mhmm,” Jean hums, his hand still gripped tightly around the headboard.

To Armin’s satisfaction, he pushes his hips back gingerly, an indication that this is going well so far for Jean’s first time.

Marco looks up at Armin for guidance again, and Armin just nods, slowly stroking himself as he gestures toward Marco’s finger with his chin.

“Keep going,” he says simply. They both turn in surprise as Jean groans raggedly, “Keep going... Marco...” And then to Armin’s surprise, he adds. “ _Armin..._ ”

Armin’s eyes widen, and he can feel Marco pick up on the expression almost immediately; he schools his face into neutrality, but he knows he’s been caught.

Marco shoots him one of those easy looks that says, very pointedly: _I know what you’re thinking._

Armin is excellent at reading other people’s motives and desires, and usually of hiding his own, but he doesn’t have that natural skill Marco does to gently seek out insecurities, address fear, place a firm but well meaning hand where it’s supposed to be.

Marco holds Armin’s gaze, and he slowly pushes a finger into Jean, careful and considerate, but also with a newfound confidence.

Jean actually _mewls_ as he feels the penetration, and he rubs himself desperately against the bed. All he can do is pant, though, whining a little into the blanket as he spreads his thighs as wide as possible. Armin can see everything, and Marco leans down, eyes still focused on Armin, as he kisses up Jean’s spine tenderly. 

His finger pulls out slightly, and then dips back in, going a little deeper this time.

“Find his prostate,” Armin commands, trying to prevent his voice from wobbling. He feels so hot at this point, it’s almost prickling under his skin. Watching the smooth, slow motion of Marco’s finger is getting to him more than he thought it would.

Marco pulls out his finger, and without warning, tugs at Jean to roll onto his back.

The dazed, disarmed expression on Jean’s face almost sends Armin over the edge, and he can’t stop the quiet moan that forms in his throat as their eyes meet.

They break eye contact after a moment as Jean hooks his hands under his knees and bends his legs back eagerly, letting Marco slowly work a finger back in. He curls it, and interestingly, Armin notes that Marco seems to already know exactly what he’s looking for. It’s possible he underestimated Marco’s bedroom habits.

Jean lets out a sharp cry as Marco obviously finds his prostate, back arching as his eyes flutter shut, and when they open again, he looks straight at Armin as Marco starts to stroke that place with a fingertip.

Armin is transfixed, until Marco says in a warm, easy voice, “Jean, do you want to help out Armin?” He immediately stiffens, but to his surprise, Jean nods fervently, his eyes darting from Armin’s face down to his cock, and then back up.

“Tell me what you want,” he pants, completely devoid of any snark at this point. “Armin, tell me what to do...” The sentence trails off in a slur as Marco pulls his finger out, takes time to slick two this time, and then slowly eases both back into Jean, forcing his body to open around them.

“That’s good,” Jean gasps, tipping his head back as his legs shake, mouth hanging open. “That’s g-good, I... mm...” 

The way Jean expresses his desires is usually contradictory—one minute he loudly announces what it is he wants or thinks, but the next he just stammers—and it’s completely dependent on what the desire actually is. Not much has changed since his teenage years in that way. Still as cocky as ever, though ego tempered a bit by time and death. Nonetheless, he’s still just as awkward about indulging in human companionship when he’s unsure of what to expect.

Marco pauses to retrieve the lube again, pouring it over where his fingers are still inside Jean, and then he starts to slide them in and out more quickly.

Jean lets out a strangled cry, his own fingers going white-knuckled where he’s still holding his legs in place, and he then he moans long and low. “Yeah,” is all he can slur, almost whimpering as Marco pulls out and pushes back in again. “Like that.”

And just as Armin instructed, Marco starts to fuck Jean with two fingers, the wet sound of the lubricant combined with Jean’s moans making Armin’s cock throb. He starts to stroke himself in time as he watches the quick, smooth motions of Marco’s hand, pushing Jean further into sweet oblivion. The room is quiet now except for the sounds of sex—harried moans intermingled with the wet slip of Marco’s slick fingers in Jean’s ass, and Armin’s hand moving over his cock that’s wet with precome at the tip. 

Unexpectedly, though, Marco pulls his fingers out—much to Jean’s chagrin, who gives a startled, disappointed cry—and abandons his position to reach out and seize Armin’s free hand.

“C’mon,” is all he says, his smile almost surreal with what’s happening, and Armin is so dazed at the sudden gesture, that he simply goes in the direction where Marco is pulling him. 

And then he finds himself turned toward Jean who’s lying bonelessly on his back, his mouth parted slightly as he pants, and he reaches out his hand needily.

Armin’s so stunned he doesn’t move for a moment, and then he jumps as Marco gets close and whispers into his ear with more confidence than anticipated, “He trusts you just as much as he trusts me.” There’s a gentle bite at his earlobe, and in true Marco fashion, adds with a tender kiss, “He wants you just as much, too.”

Jean is unwittingly and frequently caught between Marco and Armin and their different ways of doing things—Armin, grounded and cunning, and Marco, the epitome of level-headed practicality. And then there’s Jean: passionate, determined, but so forceful in his conclusions and convictions that he’s incidentally become their proverbial hammer in the field. He’s also beloved by everyone under his command, and has earned a rare type of trust from others with a brand of guileless sincerity that even someone like Armin couldn’t hope to fabricate.

The three of them are known to be as thick as thieves; although that’s taken on a whole new meaning, given the events that have transpired in the past hour or so.

Taking all of this into account, and being the excellent strategist that he is, Armin gives in and takes Jean’s hand. Somewhere in the mix, Marco manages to get his pants off, and he ends up on top of Jean, bodies crushed together. Jean wraps his legs tightly around Armin’s hips, practically clinging, as if starving for security.

He does start, though, as he feels someone (undoubtedly Marco) unpin his hair where he’d secured it before, and he grunts.

Armin never lets anyone touch his hair—not even his lovers—because it speaks to vanity and naïveté, but he can’t bring himself to cut it. It’s as much a part of him from before as his ironclad resolve has become.

Marco in particular likes it, though, apparently fascinated by it. He told Armin one day, without a hint of mockery, that the only person he’d ever seen with hair as long and as handsome was his older sister back in Jinae. It’d been a few years ago, when Armin was still caught between the awkward end of puberty and adulthood, and he’d been uncharacteristically flustered.

Marco had apologized, though looked slightly amused by the exchange, but had the decency to never bring it up again. Armin had figured he at least had a glimpse into the future of what kind of woman Marco would marry in terms of appearance.

Of course, for once, Armin had been so far off target that it’s laughable now.

“Sorry,” Marco breathes, interrupting Armin’s thoughts. “I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s okay,” Armin groans, grinding his hips down against Jean and starting to lose any reservations he may have had left, “I don’t mind.”

That’s all it takes for him to feel a set of gentle fingers comb through his hair, obviously eager, and then he’s surprised as he feels another hand against the back of his head that isn’t Marco’s.

Jean pulls him down for a kiss, and Armin feels like his ability to breathe has been completely stolen away as his lips press against Jean’s. He’s stubbly and smells familiar, and Armin lets out a groan that manifests straight from the heat thrumming through his entire body. He thrusts his hips forward, reveling in the sensation of their cocks sliding together, and he starts to frot against Jean. 

Suddenly, Jean lets out a sharp cry, and Armin can feel where Marco’s reached back down to push his fingers back into Jean’s ass.

“Fuck,” Jean gasps, pulling Armin down with a grip that speaks to the strength and agility of his hands from hours of squeezing triggers and slicing with ODM blades, and Armin feels almost lightheaded as those graceful fingers splay out against his shoulder blades through the shirt he’s still wearing. “I’m gonna... _god, I’m_...”

Armin manages to shift his weight enough to pull away slightly, and then reach between them to give Jean’s cock a few firm strokes, before rubbing his thumb deftly just under the head.

Jean _screams_ as he orgasms, cock shooting come explosively across his belly. He lets out a needy, hoarse slur of both their names, and then goes completely limp as Armin pulls away at the same time as Marco.

“Good?” Marco asks, immediately there by Jean’s side, smoothing the hair back from his forehead. “You okay?”

Jean blinks, and then gives the stupidest smile Armin’s ever seen with a dazed nod. “Mm,” he hums, and then looks down at Armin, chest still heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

“What the hell, Arlert?” he grunts, obviously unable to move. “Do you...” he clears his throat, obviously trying to regain some version of composure, but then blurts out in typical Jean fashion, “Do you actually get around?”

Marco groans in embarrassment, and Jean just stares at him with wide eyes. “What?” he asks cluelessly. Then, as if reminded of exactly what’s still happening, he glances down at Marco’s cock and swallows hard.

Armin knows he’s tired and probably losing steam; Jean sometimes gets overwhelmed and doesn’t know his own limits, so he decides to step in.

And also, teach Jean a thing or two about how much he “actually gets around.”

Marco seems to be thinking the exact same thing as he gives his own cock a few strokes—thick and uncut with a pair of nicely formed balls hanging just behind—and Armin licks his lips unconsciously.

They exchange a look, though— _he’s tired_ —and Marco just nods as he gives Jean’s cheekbone a tender caress.

“Just watch now,” he instructs Jean simply. Jean doesn’t argue, his expression eager as he looks back and forth between them and moves to the side, balancing on an elbow to watch intently.

Now, Marco focuses on Armin, obviously not sure what to expect. And Armin relishes the noise Marco makes—a deep, surprised hum—as he wraps one hand around a hip and directs him to lie down.

Marco emits a squeak that’s almost comedic for a man his size and age, as Armin seizes both long legs and pulls them over his shoulders, bending forward without preamble to lick at the tip of Marco’s cock.

“Oh, god,” Marco rumbles, hand immediately coming down to twist in Armin’s hair. 

Armin starts slow, pulling Marco’s foreskin back and playing with the head of his cock, using his other hand to squeeze gently at those perfect balls.

Marco’s hand tightens almost painfully in his hair as he whimpers, the sound so vulnerable that Armin actually stops to look up at him, and their eyes lock.

His expression plainly says: _Holy shit, Jean was right._

Armin raises an eyebrow at him, pausing, before sliding his entire mouth down over Marco’s cock, letting it hit the back of his throat and then pulling off. 

That’s all it takes for Marco to fall heavily back against a pillow, spine arching as Armin starts to bob his head, taking care to get at the right spots—darting his tongue against the underside and dragging it through Marco’s slit that’s wet and salty with precome—and he moans Armin’s name.

He barely notices Jean moving forward, having apparently recovered from his mind numbing orgasm, to kiss at Marco’s shoulder from the side. It’s a heady combination of sweet and hot, and Armin can tell Marco’s about to orgasm.

He pulls back just as Marco’s entire body seizes, and lets out a long, deep wail, crying out as Armin continues to stroke his slick cock through the orgasm. It’s over far too soon—Armin savors the harder orgasms he manages to elicit from his partners in pleasure—and Marco’s legs fall from his shoulders.

Jean immediately presses against Marco, bending his knee up to rest it against a hip, scattering quick, tender kisses against one broad shoulder.

Armin unexpectedly feels a familiar pang—despite Marco’s former words, he suddenly feels like an outsider again—but before he can get too lost in his feelings, he feels the mattress dip. Marco is up on his knees with a recovery time that impresses even Armin, and he pulls Armin down by the shoulder.

Once again, Armin just goes; there’s no point in pulling away if he can’t find a good reason, and there really isn’t any good reason except his own insecurities. That, and Marco Bodt has a very uncanny way of getting people to do what he wants, the way he wants, even if they weren’t planning on it.

Armin once watched Marco convince an angry Garrison official to not only give him a horse to replace the one killed by a Titan on their most recent scouting mission, but also receive an invitation to the man’s house for dinner.

“Jean,” Marco says as he smoothly pushes Armin onto his back against the bed, “you ready?”

And to Armin’s surprise, Jean seems to already know what’s transpiring as he nods enthusiastically, leaning forward right alongside Marco. He presses a shy kiss against Armin’s hip, looking up submissively, and Armin realizes he wants praise.

This did not go exactly the way he expected.

“Good,” Armin says, trying to clear his throat and remain composed, “that feels good, Jean.” He reaches down to stroke Jean’s hair, and he receives a shiver in response.

And then Marco’s mouth is sucking at the head of his cock as Jean continues to kiss at his hips, then dart his tongue out to lick at the base.

“Fuck,” Armin gasps, and he can feel the effect the word has on both Jean and Marco when they start to move a little faster.

The last time Armin Arlert openly cursed was when some hapless drunk cadet had fired a cannon the wrong way into Trost and destroyed an unoccupied house. 

He groans and reaches down to twist his fingers in Jean’s hair, a move which earns him a staggered breath and shudder as Jean pulls away for a moment to catch his breath.

“Am I doing okay?” he asks softly, looking up at Armin with flushed cheeks and slick lips, eager for approval.

Armin strokes fingers through Jean’s hair, fully aware now of his need for guidance and reassurance, and nods. “Keep going,” he says firmly, but the command is belied by the sharp gasp he takes when Marco drags his tongue through the slit of his cock.

Jean doesn’t need to be told again, eagerly sliding his mouth down to where he was before.

Between the two of them, Armin feels like he’s in a dream, every single inch of his cock being lavished with attention, wet mouths, pants, and groans.

“I’m going to...” he warns in advance as he feels his balls tighten and the orgasm start to overtake him, but Marco doesn’t stop, sucking hard as come starts to spill out of his cock.

Marco just swallows reflexively, almost eagerly, as Armin comes with a few jerks of his hips and a shrill groan; he can feel Jean encouraging the orgasm, stroking and squeezing at his balls. When his cock is spent and Marco pulls back, he hisses as Jean needily slides his mouth over the tip of Armin’s cock, lapping at what’s left, as if eager to taste it.

Then, they all just stay there for a few beats of silence, the only sound in the room the rasp of three sets of lungs trying to breathe and regain the ability to move. 

Armin collapses back completely, letting his eyes close and not bothering to move any other part of himself. His cock is softening and his legs are still slightly parted, almost lewdly so, but he can’t remember the last time he cared so little about modesty.

He knows it shouldn’t surprise him at this point, but the sudden appearance of Jean next to him makes him jump. Jean pushes his face against Armin’s shoulder, and sighs when Armin curiously brings his hand up to run through Jean’s hair.

He feels Marco’s gaze before he looks over, but when he does, he sees Marco raising an eyebrow at him. The look is obviously in reference to Jean who’s practically hiding against Armin now, and Marco shoots him a little smile, as if to say: _Do you see now?_

Armin raises an eyebrow right back at him, putting on a neutral expression he knows not even Marco can decipher, but it doesn’t seem to even be necessary as Marco collapses lazily on the other side of him.

“Door locked?” he yawns, immediately reaching up to stroke through Armin’s hair.

“I hope so,” Armin quips, not minding the way Marco’s fingers play with the long strands. It feels surprisingly nice, at least when Marco does it.

Jean gives a slight sigh, and Armin realizes he’s already asleep. His own eyes start to droop as Marco’s breathing starts to deepen, and Armin stares at the ceiling for a moment before giving into his own post-orgasmic fatigue.

This is a beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are much appreciated, especially since this is a new venture! <3


End file.
